Eric stopped at the keep to see his son and inform Borg of his intention and wasn’t surprised that he offered to accompany him. Borg believed strongly in the Other World whereas Eric believed in what he could see, and if something could attack and leave scratches then that something could be caught.
He declined Borg’s offer though his warning was clear.
“Take no chances with a hobgoblin. They are mean and troublesome.”
Eric gave his son a hug and a kiss, the little fellow throwing his tiny arms around his father’s neck and hugging tight. That he was Eric’s son could not be denied, he was the exact image of him. He left the two playing with the wooden animals Borg had carved for Ryan.
The villagers nodded knowingly as he stomped his way through the village to the woods, his intentions clear. Besides, word had already spread that the Irish Devil was going after the hobgoblin and it seemed that everyone heartily approved.
With the skies gray, no sun to penetrate the thick woods, it was dark. Not as dark as when night settles over the land but dark enough to make one pause and watch one’s footings. Eric did both as he made his way around trees and avoided large fallen branches.
He never entered battle without a clear plan, which was why he so often saw victory rather than defeat. This time however he had a good reason for proceeding without a plan—he’d be damned if he’d let a hobgoblin keep him from a night of love with his wife.
Though now here, he began to think on what to do next. If his people were avoiding the woods then perhaps the hobgoblin had grown bored with no diversion and would be looking for a target to torment. If he simply meandered along not paying any heed, though keeping aware, the insufferable creature would show himself and he could be done with this.
His warrior side warned not to be in a hurry, to remain ever cautious and watch for shadows that moved too quickly. And to keep his mind focused and off his wife, though that wasn’t easy.
Her scent was on him, on his shirt where she had rested her head to his chest, on his palm she had softly kissed and on his forearms, his shirt sleeves rolled up when he had wrapped his arms around her. It was pungent and sweet and more enticing than he remembered. And it made him ache for her all the more.
He smiled picking up the delicious scent of honey bread she often made and so generously shared with those who needed tending. He sometimes wondered if illnesses were concocted just so the honey bread could be enjoyed. But regardless Faith welcomed them all and it had endeared her to all.
A crack of a branch brought Eric out of his musings and his hand went to the hilt of his sword that hung at his side. He saw only shadows, though in them he knew the hobgoblin could lurk. So he kept a steady eye on everything around him. Whether it was the shadow of a tree swaying in the wind, an animal busy in preparation of the coming winter or simply life in the woods, he kept aware. He never allowed a trick of the eye to fail to keep him from spotting the obvious or that which was hidden. The hobgoblin would not get passed him. He would fell the creature and be done with, sending him home where he belonged and then... then he would finally have his wife to himself.
The attack came so swiftly that it took Eric a moment to realize that he had been hit. And when he did and was about to retaliate, he was hit again so hard that the blow felled him to the ground.
Stunned by the second attack he lay on the ground furious that he had failed to see the creature’s approach. He cast a cautious though hasty glance around and that is when he caught sight... of the hobgoblin.
~~~
The Irish Devil stormed through the village, nostrils flaring and his eyes filled with fiery anger. When he didn’t find Faith in her healing cottage his frustration mounted and his strides hastened. The villagers were quick to retreat from his sight and fearful of what they saw. Not only was the Irish Devil angry beyond measure, he also bore the marks of the hobgoblin.
Eric stopped abruptly in the middle of the village and called out, “Listen all and listen well.”
The villagers reluctantly paid heed and gathered closer to their chieftain.
Eric raised his bloody arms. “You all see that I met the hobgoblin. The creature has yet to be sent home to the Other World, but I promise you that before this day ends he will be no more, for I will see him dead!”
Gasps filled the air. No one ever killed a creature from the Other World. It just wasn’t possible and it wasn’t wise. They were too powerful, but then an Other World creature had never come up against the Irish Devil.
Eric left the villagers mumbling amongst themselves, though left little doubt that his words rang true as he hurried to find his wife.
He burst into the keep and his glance fell on Faith the same moment her eyes met his. In seconds she handed over their sleeping son to Borg and hurried to him. He was near on top of her by the time she took only a few steps.
“You’re hurt,” she said and took his hand. “Come and sit so I may tend your wounds.”
He loved the feel of her hand in his, it not only comforted it reminded him of intimate touches that of late he ached for and ached to return. Her skin was velvet soft and the concern in her eyes reminded him just how much she loved him. He had known little of love until he had met Faith. He had tasted of it briefly, but once he had met her and had the full flavor of it, he hungered for more and she had willingly given it to him. She forever quenched his thirst and he could not see life without her.
“I told you not to go alone,” Faith scolded with gentleness.
“And I paid no heed, for I am a warrior—”
“And was attacked for your stubbornness,” she admonished, already busy at work on his wounds.
Eric didn’t argue. He enjoyed her gentle and caring touch and wanted to linger in the pleasure it brought him.
“Tell us what happened,” Borg said keeping Eric’s sleeping son tucked safely in the crook of his arm.
“I saw the hobgoblin,” Eric said as he finally sat.
The room went silent except for a low whine from Rook who put his head down and his paw over it.
“Hobgoblins are not meant to be seen,” Borg said.
“I can understand why,” Eric said. “Wild hair that stuck out in points from his head, small and wiry in size, large eyes that glowed green and he was made of dirt, a creature of the earth.”
Faith stopped cleansing his wounds with the wet cloth. “This is not good, stubborn husband of mine.”
Eric grinned. She was even more beautiful when she got angry, not that she got angry often. She would raise her soft voice, though truthfully the difference was barely detectable, and her cheeks would flush, like now, as if the heat from the hearth had singed them. Then she would say her piece, he would smile then kiss her and then they would...
He leaned down and cooled her heated cheek with his cold one and whispered, “Tonight I make love to you and nothing on this earth or from the Other World will stop me.”
She sighed heavily and he knew it signaled her resignation of the matter, though that did not always settle it. He eyed her cautiously as she finished cleaning his wound before applying comfrey paste. He didn’t know much about her healing herbs, only the ones she used often. She had made it known to the clan that all wounds were to be treated immediately and no one had objected. But then no one denied his wife anything and it wasn’t because he was her husband, it was simply because they loved and admired her good and generous nature.
Of course few realized that she possessed a stubborn streak as mulish as his, at least when it came to protecting him.
When she finished she turned a dazzling smile on him. “Time we make a plan to catch the hobgoblin.”
“We can make a plan,” Eric said standing, “but you will not be accompanying me to see it done.”
“We’ll see about that,” she said returning her healing items to one of many baskets she kept ready throughout the keep.
Eric looked to Borg for help in convincing her, but the mile-wide grin he wore told Eric he�
��d be of no help.
Faith confirmed his suspicion. “Your brother will not help you with this. Besides Borg fears Other World creatures whereas I have herbs that offer at least a modicum of protection from them.”
Borg nodded. “Faith is right.”
“Will you never disagree with my wife?” Eric asked frustrated.
“I will when she’s wrong,” Borg said, his grin growing ever wider if that was possible.
“I will not permit you to go with me,” Eric ordered his wife with the firmness of a chieftain setting a decree.
Faith stepped close to her husband and laid a firm hand to his chest. “You are my heart. It beats as one with mine. If anything happens to you, it happens to me. If you die, I die, though I may still walk this earth, I would be dead without you.”
Eric spoke more profoundly with action than he did with words and so he took hold of his wife and kissed her. It was a lingering kiss that spoke softly of his love for her before turning firm to let her feel the power of his love, and that it was forever, not only here on this earth, but beyond.
Her head rested to his chest when it ended and Eric laid his cheek to the top of her head. Their son woke with a start at that moment and Eric, keeping one arm around his wife, spread his other arm out to take his son.
Borg placed the crying babe in Eric’s arm. As soon as he brought his son to rest to his chest to cuddle with Faith, the child instantly settled and once again slept.
Eric kept firm, protective arms around his family. He would do anything to keep them safe as would Faith. And he knew there and then she would not let him go after the Hobgoblin alone.
“You will follow me even if I order you to stay,” he said clarifying what he already surmised.
“I will,” she said in a firm whisper and looked up at him. “I would follow you to hell and take on the devil himself to keep you safe.”
“I have no doubt you would be the victor in a match with the devil.”
Faith smiled. “I always am.”
~~~
The clouds had thickened and a fine mist fell, though no doubt heavier rain would follow. Eric wanted this over and done before the brewing storm broke. He hadn’t liked Faith’s suggestion of being the bait that would attract the Hobgoblin, even though it made the most sense. And of course Borg had to agree with her and try as he might to convince them otherwise, he hadn’t been able to and so here they were in the woods, his wife looking as if she had come to collect herbs, a basket on her arm.
Eric had insisted that she fill it with as many protective herbs as she possessed and to wear some on her person. She also added some honey bread in with the herbs to dilute the stinging scent of one particular one. He had tried to coax Rook into coming with them, but the large dog refused to budge from his spot by the hearth. He even whined when Faith grabbed the basket she always took when foraging the woods. It was as if he warned her not to go and that had raised the hairs on Eric’s neck.
He badly wanted to kill the hobgoblin, but Faith and Borg had cautioned against it. They both felt it would cause great unrest and anger with the Other World. They presently lived well off the land and inciting the ire of the Other World could change all that.
The creature had to be caught and cast back to where he belonged. But what if he didn’t want to go back? And why was he making himself known in the first place? The Other World rarely if ever allowed anyone to see them. Could this hobgoblin be a renegade or an outcast, if there was such a thing in their world?
Eric would have his answers soon enough, for this time he was prepared. The creature would not escape him. This time he was ready for battle and he would be victorious.
His wife crouched down to examine a plant and that was when he heard the scurry of footfalls. With his eyes wide and his ears alert, Eric listened. The creature’s steps grew hasty and he deduced it gathered speed for the attack.
Eric didn’t move, didn’t make a sound; he continued to listen and determine in what direction the creature came. It took only moments for Eric to calculate his direction and another moment to move into position. He pulled the sack from his belt and made ready to catch the hobgoblin.
With patience born of a seasoned warrior Eric waited for the precise moment and as the hobgoblin burst out of the woods and headed for Faith, so did he.
His feet took flight like never before and he cried out, “Down, Faith.”
She hit the ground flat and he vaulted over her, his sack open wide to come down over the hobgoblin.
Unearthly screeches pierced the chilled air and sent shivers racing through Eric and Faith.
The hobgoblin was not happy about being caught.
~~~
Ear-splitting screeches ripped through the woods and Eric fought to keep hold of the struggling hobgoblin. He would have liked to give the creature a sound thrashing for all the troubles he had caused, but he was from the Other World and like it or not Eric had to be cautious in his actions.
The best thing for him to do was to find out why the little creature had been such a nuisance and send him home where he belonged never to step foot on Shanekill land again.
Eric gave the squirming sack a good shake and this time it was a woeful shout that pierced the air.
“Eric, please put him down,” Faith said resting a tender hand to his arm.
He had no intentions of complying with his wife’s request but her gentle touch and the soulful look in her lovely eyes made him think twice.
“Trust me,” she whispered.
Trust was something that hadn’t been easily established between them at first. It had taken time for them both to come to know each other, though it hadn’t taken long to fall in love with his wife. He believed he had been struck by love the very first time he had looked into her eyes. And no doubt it was love that had helped them both heal old wounds and learn to trust.
So the two words, ‘trust me’ meant much more than anyone could ever imagine, making it impossible for Eric to refuse her.
Eric plopped the creature down on the ground and that was when he noticed the feet, though smeared with layers of grime, they were feet like any others. And they were attached to skinny legs just as laden with dirt. He had expected something unusual like three-toed feet and thick hairy legs.
He was even more surprised when Faith hunched down beside the sack and said, “It’s all right. No one is going to hurt you.”
Why the devil was she comforting the annoying creature? He had all he could do to hold his tongue, but hold it he did. After all she had asked him to trust her and trust her he would.
“I’m going to remove the sack,” Faith said, brushing Eric’s hand away and replacing it with her own. “Do not run. You will not be harmed. Understand?”
The head inside the sack nodded.
His wife’s soothing tone probably mesmerized the creature. It did him. Endless times her gentle way had helped ease his anger or stilled his impatience. When troubled he often sought her counsel and it wasn’t so much what she said, it was how she listened, how she soothed with tender words and comforted with a gentle touch.
Damn the hobgoblin for stealing his wife from him in more ways than one.
Faith eased the sack up along the small creature slowly revealing filthy arms and clothes, and as she did Eric shook his head.
“It couldn’t be,” he whispered, though his wife heard and nodded.
Faith gently lifted the sack completely off. Eric and she stood wide- eyed staring at the small lad who stared back with even wider eyes that grew rounder when he caught sight of Eric, and instinctively the lad moved closer to Faith.
With a nature born to mothers she slipped her arm protectively around his skinny waist.
Hands on hips, Eric glared down at the lad. No wonder he had thought him a hobgoblin. He was covered in grime from head to toe and a foul odor drifted off him. He couldn’t have been more than five years and so skinny that a mild breeze would blow him over.
And he trembled; hi
s whole scrawny little body shaking with fear.
Eric eased down beside his wife. “What is your name, lad.”
He moved closer to Faith, his dirty arm reaching out, pushing her hair aside as it wrapped around her neck. He gasped when he caught sight of her scar. His rounded eyes glared in horror at it and then at Eric.
Faith laid a gentle hand to the lad’s face turning it toward her. “Lord Eric helped me when no one else would. And he protected me when no one else cared to.”
The lad’s hand rose slowly, hesitantly until he laid a finger to her scar. “Does it hurt?”
“Not anymore.” She smiled. “Lord Eric has made certain of that. And he will do the same for you if you let him.”
His wife’s reassuring words twisted at his gut. They were so true. No one had cared to protect Faith until he had come along, though that quivering coward of a dog Rook had fared well enough. He had attempted to ward off Eric, though a stern command had sent him hiding behind Faith’s back. In the end however, Rook had been there for Faith even if it had meant risking his life and for that the dog had his eternal gratitude and respect.
Eric held his hand out to the lad. “Take it and I will keep you safe.”
The lad was hesitant and Eric didn’t blame him. He was much too young to be on his own and struggling to survive. He wondered what had happened to the lad, though would not ask. First he needed to gain the lad’s trust.
Finally the lad’s tiny hand reached out and Eric noticed the thick dirt beneath his ragged fingernails. He could only imagine how frantically the little fellow must have dug for food or dug a hole to seek warmth or protection, or used them as weapons to help steal food. And how had he survived the woods with its many predators, animal and human alike?
Eric took the lad’s hand and in an instant had him in his arms and then stood. He felt his small body quake against his large one as he extended his hand to help his wife stand. While he knew the lad no doubt would prefer to be in Faith’s arms, he had no intention of letting his wife tote the dirty laid back to the keep.
There were questions he had, but they would wait. Food and a bath were in order and the sky was growing ever darker. A storm would break any moment and he wanted them safely home in the keep. Eric could not help but imagine the lad curled up somewhere in the woods trying desperately to seek shelter from torrential rain.
Donna Fletcher Short Story Collection Page 2